DRUNK
Drinker
Liquor burns the throat — gotta get wasted.
Why do you walk with a wobble? Why are you always riding an emotional high? Why do you see double? Because what flows through your veins isn't blood -- it's premium bourbon! It's top-shelf whiskey! It's craft IPA! It's bottom-shelf rotgut! Oh, glorious alcohol, every drop burning, every drop blazing. Have you already gotten used to pouring spirits into your thermos and chugging it like water? How magnificent, alcohol! It makes you the life of every dinner table and then has you hugging the toilet confessing your life's sins; it makes you believe you're a midnight poet, the undying flame at the center of the universe, until 10 AM the next morning when your head feels like a cracked walnut, food residue clings to your lip, and your soul is curled up in a corner. You finally understand: the person who was pontificating and table-pounding last night has officially become The Drinker.
